


Second child, restless child

by DryDreams



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Chill d/s dynamics, F/M, Friends With Benefits, I Don't Even Know, Oral Sex, Pretend shit doesn’t go down for a little longer so that this makes sense, Sort Of, Subspace, The sex is pretty casual, Trans Obi-Wan Kenobi, but not during sex, cuz she’s supposed to be older, he takes care of her, sex as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28026615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/pseuds/DryDreams
Summary: Setting herself right again won’t be so easy later, but for now she just needs this. Him. Steady and calm and grounding. And gentle.She needs someone to be gentle and firm with her, until she can do it herself again.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Ahsoka Tano, implied Anakin/Ahsoka and Obi Wan/Anakin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Second child, restless child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felineladyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineladyy/gifts).



> I reiterate: Ahsoka is not meant to be a Teen in this, it’s some sort of weird canon divergent, it’s just pwp and it’s sweet and soft take it take it I beg of you

Ahsoka has learned to ignore the fire-spread pain that comes from a blaster wound or a graze from a lightsaber, to tuck it into the back of her mind for tending to later. A physical impact is harder but the same. She can deal with it; she can put it away.

It’s no big deal when the distress comes to the front, sometimes. When the pain gets to her, makes her hiss and show weakness; that she can deal with, as inconvenient as it may be. 

When the burn comes with heat in her gut, though. When a hit sends her reeling and the smell of her own melting flesh, her breath getting pushed from her lungs— when it leaves her throbbing between her legs. That’s when she gets worried. 

That’s when it’s time to take her time and step away. Reset. Time to go see Obi Wan. 

She used to go to Anakin with this, let him sink his teeth and nails into her as she chased that thrumming want. Quickly she learned that only made it worse. Made it more. 

So, somewhat begrudgingly: another route. 

It wasn’t that Ahsoka begrudged going to Obi Wan— not in the slightest. It is just what she was going to ask of him. To help her calm instead of frenzy; to dispel the itch without scratching, rather with a firm hold and a clear mind and some patience.

He was more than obliged to help her, to her great relief. And it became routine, of sorts. He makes it bearable. She treasures her time with him, even if battling her compulsions is a great and frustrating effort. 

This time he is at his home, which is supremely rare. She does not bother to tell him she is coming; she stopped doing that ages ago. There is no need to ask permission; his home is just as much hers.

When she arrives she finds him busy, sat at a holo-table, deep in conversation with someone she vaguely recognizes. His eyes flick to her and his eyebrows crease in mild concern, but he does not otherwise hesitate in his talk. 

Sheepishly she gestures to the door and makes to leave, feeling guilty for interrupting. But he shakes his head minutely and taps a button on the table. Her mouth falls open slightly in shock as the hologram disappears and is replaced with a waveform. He’s turned it off for her. 

“Forgive me, General.” He says primly to his audience, beckoning for her to come to him. “I must switch to an audio only channel. It is a technical difficulty on my part. I am sure we can continue in this manner with no issue?” 

Tentatively Ahsoka makes her way over as the voice on the other end of the line responds in a language she does not know. Obi Wan turns in his chair, pushing back so that there is ample room at his feet. He does not have to instruct her; with a sigh of relief she drops to her knees in front of him. 

“Thank you for understanding, General. Now, where were we?” 

Obi Wan reaches out to her, stroking gently over the tops of her montrals as she leans heavily into the touch, her eyes slipping shut. He knows she is happy to stay here until he is finished. 

She shuffles about for a moment until she finds the place where she will stay, resting her cheek against the inside of his thigh. His fingertips drift down over her temple and her cheek, and then his wide palm cups her face, dry and warm and the smell of him is like home and the comfort of it is so great that she feels as though she could cry. 

Before he can even find her mouth she’s opening for him, overeager for their familiar routine. She hears him let out a puff of breath through his nose that only she knows is a laugh on her behalf as the pad of his thumb traces over the bow of her lips. He replaces it then with two fingers and she stays perfectly quiet as he presses them in, stroking over her tongue before letting her close around them and suckle contentedly. 

His thumb strokes softly at her cheek and the cadence of his voice lulls her, even if she isn’t absorbing any meaning from the words. It’s easy now to let herself float, and she falls into it like into a soft bed. 

Setting herself right again won’t be so easy later, but for now she just needs this. Him. Steady and calm and grounding. And _gentle._

She needs someone to be gentle and firm with her, until she can do it herself again. 

After some very indeterminable amount of time, her haze breaks slightly as his fingers curl against her tongue and he gets a grip on her chin, shaking her head ever so slightly. 

“Ahsoka? Are you with me, little one?” He asks and she blinks her eyes open with some effort to peer up at him. She nods and he gives her a soft smile. 

“I’d ask what brings you here, but I think we’re past too much talking for now, hmm?”

Ahsoka sighs through her nose and shuts her eyes as she nods again. 

“That’s perfectly alright. I do have another meeting very soon. Would you like me to reschedule, or would you like to stay here for another? It won’t be so long as the last.”

He slips his fingers from her mouth and she opens and shuts her mouth testily, checking for any twinges of pain in her jaw. When she feels no sign of strain she sits back, unfolding her legs and doing the same with them. Finally she returns to her previous position. He’s waiting for her answer with perfect patience, attention fully on her. She feels a heady warmth in her chest. 

“I’ll stay for another please, Master.”

“Very well.” He pulls out a cloth from somewhere and wipes his hand on it, then offers her the other. Instead of opening her mouth she reaches up and takes it in both of hers. He watches curiously as she presses her thumbs into his palm, traces the lines of it. She’s not sure why she is doing it at all. She just wants the touch. He lets her have her way, lets her lean her face into the palm and curl his fingers one by one, push at the pads of them and push her own against his trim nails until they leave little half moons that she watches go white and then fill with red again. 

When the holo-table buzzes to life he tips his head at her in question and she brings the tips of his fingers back to her lips in answer. With a short nod he takes control again, pushing at her bottom lip as she lets her mouth fall open. 

It’s almost a shame that this meeting doesn’t run as long as the last. She knows he lets her sit a while after he finishes, too, but the knowledge that she could be wasting his time distracts her too much and she has to give up on her want to stay this way forever. That and she’s sure the pads of his fingers are pruned. She always finds that rather funny. Hers don’t do this human thing. 

When he stands, she follows, but finds herself lightheaded. He catches her as she stumbles and then, quicker than she can protest, bends down to slide a hand under her knees and lift her into his arms. 

Too dazed to protest, she just lets her head fall against his chest as he quietly makes his way to his sleeping quarters. She knows the way even without looking where they are going.

When the door slides shut behind them, he gingerly sets her on the sofa. She blinks up at him, suddenly feeling awkward, like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. His eyebrows are creased in concern again. 

“Would you like to clean yourself up? I don’t know how far you came but I imagine you need to eat, as well?” He inquires. He knows Ahsoka will tell him why she came when she is ready.

She doesn’t really _want_ to bathe and eat, she _wants_ him to wrap his hand around her throat and kiss her. But she should, for both their sake. Apparently she takes too long in responding, because he takes her choice away. 

“Go, I’ll set something for you to wear in there while you bathe. Then we can talk.” His voice takes that commanding edge and it tugs at something tremulous inside her.

“Okay, Master.” She agrees, dropping her head in consent. He nods, satisfied, and then turns towards the far room before hesitating and looking back to her.

“Are you alright on your own?” 

She stands again, successfully this time, and gives him a smile. “Yes, thank you.”

His head tilts almost imperceptibly. Insatiably curious. But he nods again. “Alright.”

Ahsoka does not regret leaving Obi-Wan’s presence when she remembers that he has real water refreshers— not an extremely rare luxury, but something she is unused to from so much traveling and stays on backwater planets. The steam is heavenly and the hot spray unwinds her even further than she already had started to be. She almost doesn’t want to leave, and dawdles somewhat, taking her time rubbing the soap that smells of him under her montrals and between her toes, letting the water run over her until it’s more than a certainty there’s no trace of suds left. 

When she finally steps out, the dry air quickly takes the moisture from her skin as she rubs off with a towel and then peers around for the clothes Obi Wan said he’d leave. After a moment she realizes it must be the robe hanging on the door: his, one of the brown hooded ones he so often sports. Contentedly she takes it off the hook and slips her arms into the large sleeves, wrapping it around herself. The rough fabric feels nice against her bare skin and the flow of it around her, unlike the tight garments she shed, makes her feel light and vulnerable.

When she steps back into the sitting room, Obi Wan is there on the couch, peering over what appears to be a holodoc. He looks up at her immediately and puts it down on the table beside him, standing. Affectionately Ahsoka rolls her eyes as she nears him. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m a queen every time I’m here, master. You’re so _proper_.” 

Obi Wan’s mouth crooks up at the edge as he steps back from the sofa, gesturing for her to sit with a sweeping motion. “But you are the queen when you are here, my dear.” 

“Even though the whole point is that you’re in charge?” She throws back, sinking down into the small pile of cushions he had apparently added while she was gone. 

“Think of it like this,” he begins, sitting next to her and then reaching down to grab her ankles, pulling her legs up into his lap. She laughs and twists to adjust, leaning her back against the arm of the couch. “You’re the queen, and I am assigned to protect you. Therefore I give the orders, even if you are the top priority.”

His thumb digs into the arch of her foot and presses in a firm circle, releasing tension immediately and she sighs, letting her head fall back. “That’s a remarkably apt metaphor.” 

He hums. “Do you want to tell me what it was this time?”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond for a long moment, turning her evaluations over in her mind. If she’s being perfectly honest, there’s been so much lately that she isn’t even sure what set her off.

She says as much, listing off a myriad of irritations and anxieties. “...I just feel _feral_ ,” she says finally. “I want a fight and, not in the same way as when I want a hunt. And you know if I give in it will only get worse.”

Obi Wan hums. His hands had gone still as she spoke, save for his thumb now rubbing small circles on the soft skin of her ankle. The touch is stoking the fire inside of her; she wants to pounce. He’ll stop her if she does, and the idea of that is _delicious._

But not the point. She stays very still.

“I know.” He says. There’s a long moment of silence then, and Ahsoka can hear her heart pounding in her ears. She twitches, she doesn’t mean to— Obi Wan’s grip on her ankle tightens ever so slightly. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” He asks. He always asks.

“Is that not what you’re doing already?” She picks her head up to peer at him. He’s already looking at her, and it makes her breath catch in her throat. His mouth curls into a smile and he squints at her playfully. 

“I don’t know why you’re putting off what you want by playing the fool.” 

“I’m just not feeling very straightforward today.”

He laughs. “Are you ever?”

She stretches out the leg he hasn’t got a grip on and then lets it slide off his lap, putting her foot on the floor. As she spreads her legs she is reminded of how wet she is already, just from the gentle touching. Well— that and the intrusive thoughts of yanking Obi Wan towards her, curling her fingers cruelly in his hair and biting down on his lip until she tastes blood, of him pinning her and digging his thumbs into her hips until they leave bruises, of—

She closes her eyes for a long moment and wills it all away, breathes and clears her mind. 

“Please.” She says, finally, and she shivers as his palm slides up her bare leg again. 

Gracefully he turns and shifts them, making what should have been an awkward adjustment look like an impressive maneuver, and then he’s above her, straddling one of her thighs, hands at her waist. 

The position flashes Ahsoka back to a vivid memory of them on a sparring mat, paused mid-grapple, laughing until their lungs ached over something she can’t remember but wishes she could. She bites her lip as affection squeezes at her insides and he tilts his head at her.

“I can feel your energy. It’s a mess.” He comments with a smile, and shifts just so, his thigh brushing between her legs and it makes her shiver. 

She sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re supposed to be helping with that.” 

He leans down over her and she arches up, the promise of him pressed against her making her breath quicken. He doesn’t put any weight on her, though, just brushes close as he slides a hand under her robe, palm skimming flat over her stomach. 

Their faces are close now too, and his hair is falling in his eyes in that charming way it only does when he’s caught vulnerable. Ahsoka reaches up to brush it back, rakes her fingers through it gently. She’s not trying to keep it there, rather to muss it more and she succeeds, letting it flop back down as she continues on, fingertips drifting down to the nape of his neck. 

His blue eyes are heavy lidded yet alert as he watches her face, his fingers curling against the sensitive skin over her ribs. When she pulls him in for a kiss they slip shut, his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. He holds back for a moment before he allows her to kiss him, a breath away, the hair of his beard tickling her chin. “No biting, Ahsoka.” He murmurs.

She huffs, resisting the urge to tug as she curls her fingers in the short soft hair at the back of his head. “I promise.” She whispers back and he lets her pull him the rest of the way, lips parting against hers with a soft exhale that makes her ache. 

The way Obi Wan kisses her feels like summer love and healing, sweet and slow and gentle. It’s like meditating— if meditating were fun and slick and alive and tasted of someone she loves, which it very much doesn’t— but the kiss empties her mind, draws her to a point, focused only on the way their mouths slide together, catch and pull. 

When he breaks the kiss he leans his forehead against hers, and she feels their connection sharpen as he focuses on her. Her breath catches and she arches up towards him.

“You are so frustrated, my dear.” He murmurs, and then shifts, sliding up to press a kiss to the spot where they had been connected. She makes a discontented sound. 

“Yes.”

He kisses each of her closed eyelids, and then her cheeks. “Relax.” He says, before returning to her lips for a kiss as quick as the others. “Find the hurt inside that is feeding on you, and make peace with it.”

Ahsoka sucks in a quiet breath as his mouth slides soft over her jaw and down her neck. His hand is still drifting over her side, making her shiver and the other joins it now, pushing her robe open.

As he moves down her body he takes his time, worshipful as he drags his mouth and his fingertips across her skin. She focuses on her breathing, keeping it slow and even. She makes a great effort to savor the gentle, warm pulses of pleasure that come when he touches her just so— pushing away the longing for harder, rougher, faster. 

When he presses a kiss to the jut of her hip she aches for his teeth, bruising, breaking skin. He does not so much as scrape them against her, only kisses open mouthed and blows cool air over the wet, making her shiver.

His hands are on her thighs now, and he knows where she is sensitive, scraping his nails there lightly, squeezing. She moans and pushes against him, pulsing with heat and want at her center, perfectly exposed though he has not acknowledged it yet.

As he slowly continues downwards, his mouth finding her inner thighs, beard scratching at her pleasantly; _frustratingly—_ she whines and squirms. 

“Use your words Ahsoka.” He says firmly, then continues to mouth at her thighs, hand hooked under her knee, obviously having a lovely time. 

She growls softly, but it’s not much hardship to plead. She has no need for pride here. “Please,” she begins, but then hesitates on the lewd plea she was about to instinctively let tumble out. It feels too insincere, like that isn’t really what she’s asking for. Not _just_ his mouth.

“Help me.” Comes out instead, and she instantly regrets it, her face heating. _That’s so needlessly dramatic, why would you say_ **_that_ ** _?_

But Obi Wan appears to find this perfectly acceptable, turning his lovely blue eyes up to her with no hint of judgement as he dips his head and presses his tongue against her. 

She whimpers immediately, hands finding his hair again. He sucks just so and her legs try to close but he’s holding them firmly open, steady hand on the inside of one thigh, the other leg braced against his shoulder. The warmth of her face isn’t from embarrassment anymore when she sees his eyes crinkle at the edges and knows he’s smiling up at her, sees a flash of his tongue before whatever it does makes her back arch and her eyes slip shut. He is more lovely than he has any right to be and it makes her stomach flip, a mixture of affection and helpless arousal. 

With the itch in her body comes a predictable impatience, and before she knows it she’s made her bottom lip bleed from biting it, trying to stay polite, to indulge languidly. He notices when she licks at it and hisses, and pulls away from her for a moment, stroking at her with two fingers. All he does is look at her with concern and it’s enough to make her want to stop, focusing on loosening her jaw instead. 

His mouth is wet and so is his beard and it’s obscene, every time, to see him like this. It never feels less like a fever dream when he starts looking debauched, and Ahsoka always has a private little moment mentally comparing the flushed and cheeky man in front of her to the one she used to watch effortlessly behead people on the battlefield several times a month. 

He catches her smiling at him and gives her a look like he knows she’s amused with him but doesn’t know why, a crooked confused little grin, before he wipes his mouth on his sleeve— _on his_ **_sleeve_ ** _, how_ **_unseemly,_ ** _is she absolutely certain this is the Obi Wan she knows?—_ and dips his head again, lapping at her in a way that feels almost teasing. 

And any sort of teasing is almost too much for her at this point, it makes her want to scream, and her hands grasp at nothing before landing on her thighs, curling like talons as she tries to dig her nails in. 

“Ah, no thank you.” He says, pulling away for an agonizing moment and adjusting his hands. She watches his fingers twitch, knows what he’s doing but still fights it with a knee jerk instinct when the force catches her wrists, dragging her arms up several inches from her thighs.

Somehow it’s this that finally cracks her open; she closes her eyes and breathes, stops fighting against his push. The moment she gives in she feels the force flow around her like water, up her arms and over the whole of her, tangible and sweet. She shivers and jerks as Obi Wan presses his fingers into her, closes his mouth around her and the fire inside her goes out, just like that, fading easily like it’s been gently rolled over by the incoming tide. 

He feels it, she knows he does, and he hums contentedly against her. Her orgasm follows like the swelling of a symphony, a slow build as he finds the path and rigidly follows it, and then she’s overflowing, and he’s murmuring against her skin, praise she has always treasured, chased after, since as long as she can remember and _this_ —

This is why she never regretted that. Never regretted looking up to him, letting him into her, letting him stay there, even after everything. It wasn’t a difficult decision, in the beginning. Not when she watched how he was with Anakin. How he took Anakin’s fire and found a use for it, a way to burn him out that wouldn’t burn him away. 

She hasn’t quite mastered that yet, with Anakin. They’re both so… hm. She makes him burn too hot. Sometimes. She imagines sometimes that if she let him, he’d turn them both to ash. 

But they have Obi Wan. He has her like he has always had Anakin and she is grateful beyond belief, and she shows him just how much, pours it into the kiss when he climbs back up her body and lets her drag him in. 

“Do you?” She asks, and her voice sounds serene in a way that makes her want to roll her eyes, but she’s far too lazy for that. 

“I don’t have to.” He says, more breathless than she knows he intended. Ahsoka scoffs into his mouth and sucks on his tongue, twists around, slots her thigh between his. His moan tastes delicious, a rare thing.

Now that she’s feeling more in control of herself, the peace settling through her, her chest hollow and light— it is almost empowering to lay back and watch Obi Wan shake apart above her, rubbing off on her thigh, hair falling unkempt as he hides his face from her, head down as he pants. 

Gently she reaches out to tip up his chin and he smiles breathlessly as he meets her eye. “You’re beautiful, my darling.” He says with only a little hitch, and with the wet she can feel against her skin, his trousers damp between his legs, she imagines it must be true. 

“You’re beautiful, Master.” She replies, raking her fingers through his hair and then gripping at the back. It’s not for her, though— it’s for him, and she isn’t supposed to know, but she does, and his eyes widen and his pupils are huge and dark before they roll back as she tugs sharply, and he shudders, hips jerking as he comes. 

Ahsoka treasures the soft broken sounds he makes, tucks them away in her heart. When he lowers himself gingerly, still trembling slightly, she shifts to allow him to lay on top of her, head on her chest. She wonders if he is listening to her heart beat as she strokes absentmindedly at his hair. 

They are silent for a long time, far past when they both catch their breath, the rise and fall of her chest syncing up to his naturally. If she didn’t know better she would have said he’d fallen asleep. But she can feel him thinking, and his thumb is rubbing little circles into her hips.

“Feeling better?” Obi Wan asks finally, picking his head up to look at her. 

“I appreciate you asking even though I’m sure you could feel my smug satisfaction from the next star system.” She gives him a wry smile. 

His laugh is bright and full. “I’m just trying to be thorough.” He says, pushing up off of her and sitting back on his knees. She watches him try and fail not to skate his eyes over her body, her robe still open. 

“Thorough is an understatement.” She teases, and his cheeks color when he looks back up to her face. 

“I have to tell the truth, that isn’t what I left for you to wear. I just got distracted and forgot to find you something.”

It’s Ahsoka’s turn to laugh then, and she laughs for a long time, with her chest and it feels _good._ “Well it worked out just fine, didn’t it?” She says finally. 

He looks abashed but amused with her, and he reaches out to pull the robe closed, patting the front of it once over her ribs once he is satisfied. “Do you want something else to wear?”

“I’ll be fine with this,” she says, too quickly, and he arches an eyebrow at her. She isn’t going to admit that she likes it a bit too much, and is considering sneaking it away with her when she leaves. “Do you want to go to bed? I’m somewhat exhausted, now. Unless you have more to do?”

“Luckily for both of us, I do not.” 

Ahsoka hums contentedly and stretches like a cat. “Do you want to use the ‘fresher first?”

“I suppose I should. Do you want to go first?” 

“Can I wash your hair?”

He looks at her and tilts his head. “Your fascination with that is very amusing.”

“It’s nice. Feels nice.”

“Very well.” He looks at her for another long moment, an expression on his face that she can’t interpret, something thoughtful that creases his brow. Then it’s gone, replaced with that polite smile as he offers her a hand. “Shall we?”

She takes it gratefully, happy that she can without the overwhelming urge to yank. “We shall.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated with eternal love to Jess who deserves it


End file.
